And From the Ashes
by Alphonseelric22
Summary: Ed can't stop, can't ever just be and he's so tired, so worn. He tries to hide it, tries so hard, but there are those times when it is just too much.


Ed is tired.

Of course, any normal person would be when they haven't slept in over twenty-four hours, but this isn't the kind of tired that sleep can fix. It's the kind that drags at his mind, his limbs, at every speck of his being and nearly brings him to a halt screaming at the futility of it all.

He is just so damn fucking _tired_.

He's tired of the uncertainty, tired of wondering whether the next mission will be his last. Tired of the constant travel and the aching want to just settle for more than a day or two and knowing he can't. Tired of the thought of failure, the ever present thought that he could fuck it up all so grandly that even he can't put back together the jagged pieces.

He can't ever falter, can't ever take one misstep. Each and every one could cost him everything, could leave Al stranded as a soul without a body for eternity (however long that eternity is and he'd rather not think about that). He can't stop for even a moment to catch his breath and sort the emotions because that one moment could be the moment that he needs in the end. He can't waste any time, leave anything looked through without the the utmost completion because he could miss something and that something could be just what he needs.

Ed can't stop, can't ever just _be _and he's so tired, so worn. He tries to hide it, tries so fucking hard, but there are those times when it is just too much. It's just too damn hard to stamp it down and act like nothing is wrong because _everything _is wrong and it's his fault and he needs it to be right again. He needs it like he needs air and water and Alphonse, and if he stops for even a second then it won't be right.

It's his fault, his burden, his load to carry. He really shouldn't be so petulant about it, he did bring this all on himself after all.

He's usually so careful, making sure he doesn't get this way, making sure he seems fine and nothing is amiss but everyone has their tipping point.

This time, it's his most recent mission.

He's only just returned to Central and already he wants to just crawl into bed and curl up and just feel bad for himself because isn't he allowed at least that? Is that too much for his wretched soul to wish for?

Fuckers were killing – no – _slaughtering_ kids, taking away such a short life before it even has a chance to begin for some stupid fucking agenda that didn't even make sense. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to just kill every single asshole involved. Alphonse looked ready to slit some throats himself, that fact more terrifying than even Ed's anger.

Now, he's just so drained, so weary and soul sore that it takes all of his strength just to make his feet drag him to Central Command and toward the Colonel's office. He doesn't want to trudge through the mud and the mire any longer. He just wants to clean his hands of the blood soaking into flesh and metal and staining every inch and covering him with its stench. He just wants things to be okay.

At the moment, he's not sure if they ever will be again.

As much as he'd like to just lay in the bath then curl up under the comforter and forget the whole terrible, awful week, Ed has a report to deliver and he'd rather just get it over with so he can get on with feeling sorry for himself.

He finds himself standing in front of the door to Mustang's office without much realization of just how he got there in the first place. He waits, tries (and fails) to make himself look just mildly disgruntled and not let how shitty he feels show before he pushes the door open and enters the outer office.

Blessedly, it's empty and there are no worried faces to try and figure out just why he looks like he wants to collapse and scream. Ed doesn't think he can stand to lie to them today and they don't need to hear him fucking whining like a child. Again, he's moved without really taking notice and his left hand is already closed over the door handle and revealing the inner office and Roy Mustang himself to Ed.

Ed knows why he didn't just go straight back to his dorm and bury himself under all the guilt and the shame and sheets until he couldn't ever be found again but as he stands in the doorway he wishes he had. Mustang has a talent for pushing his buttons at the worst of times, poking at the wounds just to watch them ooze and sting. Ed doesn't think he can take the smug bastard attitude right now and he's poised to run right back out into the cool night air.

The only thing that stops him is his name spoken by the one man he least wants to see right now.

"Ed?"

This is all new, this tone of concern and worry, eyebrows drawing inward on his face as he takes in Ed's haggard appearance. Ed can deal with the masks, can deal with the fronts Mustang keeps up even when considering his current mood. That's the problem. His eyes are shining with nothing other than sincerity and Ed has never seen that before, or at least never noticed it, and it's jarring and somehow not entirely unwelcome from the man.

He lets his shoulders fully slump and doesn't even bother trying to school his expression into something other than the absolute exhaustion he's feeling with his entire being. Ed enters the office, closing the door behind him and just standing in front of it.

The silence only lasts a few more moments and Mustang is the one to break it.

"I saw the papers," he says and his voice is soft but understanding and it nearly breaks Ed to hear that from the one person he least expected to show him sympathy.

Ed sighs then threads his fingers through his bangs and fists them in his hand, expression grim. Fuck it. Fuck the pretenses and trying to pretend he's alright. He's _not _and probably never will be and just fuck trying to pretend anymore because he's just so tired of it.

Mustang must sense the change because he stands but only moves a few steps away from his desk before stopping. "Ed, it's not your fault."

His throat is thick and his eyes are starting to prickle uncomfortably and he wishes that he could believe that but he knows the truth. "Like fuck it isn't," Ed says, no bite, no acid to his tone, "I was there and I was too fucking late and if I had just been there sooner..." He scrubs at his eyes before he can look up at the Colonel, still on the brink of tears. "Kids, Mustang. They were _murdering little kids _and I couldn't fucking stop them in time. How the fuck is that not my fault?!"

He has to look away because even though he feels weak and knows he is weak, there is no reason anyone else should have to know just how weak he is. The guilt is strangling him, making it nearly impossible to breathe as his eyes cloud over and he wipes at them with his gloved left hand.

The silence is thick and tangible and hangs there between them for what feels like an eternity. Ed is just hoping, wishing, fucking _praying _that it will swallow him whole but that is better than he deserves. He doesn't even look up at the sound of soft footsteps on the carpet and doesn't notice that Mustang is next to him now.

"Ed," Roy says, but Ed still keeps his head turned away, "Ed, look at me."

At first, Ed doesn't understand why he listens to him and looks over at him. Maybe it's the concern lacing his tone or the slight quaver in his voice but then Ed realizes it's because of the fear. Why it's there, he doesn't know but it is and it's plain as day. He just wishes he knew why.

"Don't do this to yourself. It was a terrible situation that was _not your fault_ no matter how much you may think it is. You can't..." He stops, licking his lips and it looks as if he is searching for the right words, "I've been there before. It feels like a leaden weight in your chest, it swallows you and consumes you until you are nothing but a shadow of who you used to be. If you let it, it will completely destroy you."

Ed's throat is closing up again and he can't breathe. He doesn't get time to form a proper response.

"You've come so far, Ed. You can't let it take you now, not when you've pulled yourself out of the dirt and fought so damn hard to get it all back. Alphonse needs you. We all do."

There's something in his tone, in those words, that hits Ed hard in the chest. The warmth blossoms and blooms and spreads to every cell until he's positively burning from it. Before he can even bother to register what it is he's doing his hands are fisted in the collar of Roy's coat and he's hauling him down to kiss him.

Ed expects to be punched, to be lectured, to be ridiculed, for Mustang to be disgusted with him but instead his fingers are trailing his jaw and his thumb is tracing Ed's cheekbone. He is not expecting reciprocation but he gets it and it's like he's really breathing for the first time.

Roy tastes like fire and sunlight and, of all things, _salvation _and Ed can't get enough, can't stop his lips parting to admit Roy's tongue. He feels like he's burning and maybe he can rise from the ash of his former self and things will be okay.

By the time Roy parts from him – he doesn't go far, just inches from Ed's face - Ed is panting and the darkness has been pushed away to just small tendrils seeking a grasp at any fragment they can find. He's never been able to fight it off so easily, so quickly. Alphonse tries and it isn't for nothing, it does help in its own small way but Al (beautiful, wonderful Al who deserves only the best the world has to offer) is his brother and Ed put him in that armor and the longer he looks at him once he's fallen into one his pits the worse he becomes.

This, right here, with Ed's hands still gripping the collar of Roy's coat and Roy's hands trailing down his sides while he just waits, gives Ed all the room he needs to decide what comes next, this is something he can't get from Alphonse. Roy is an outsider, Roy has not been there every step of the way with Ed, and Ed knows now that Roy _cares _about what happens to him. Fuck dignity, fuck pride, fuck whatever else could hold him back from... whatever the hell this could be because even the simple notion that this could be _more _is making the heat burn steady and bright beneath his skin.

Ed licks his lips and has to resist the urge to press their lips together again. "What now?"

Roy's hands have moved to his back now and they gently urge him forward to press their bodies comfortably together. "What happens now is up to you. I will, however, offer you my company for whenever you need some time to relax, if that is what you should want."

The promise in those words is more than Ed deserves. "But Alphonse-"

"Would likely be delighted that you finally slowed down for more than a few seconds. I am quite sure he has been rather worried about you burning out at some point."

Ed tries to frown but somehow it morphs into a bit of a grin. "He has been bitching a lot about me needing a break lately."

That smirk normally infuriates Ed but now, as he is pressed against the Colonel in his office and the last tendrils of his earlier mood are dissolving, he finds it actually awakens something in him that he wants to further explore.

Roy's fingers are back at the base of his skull again, this time gently scratching and holy fuck does that feel good. He wonders idly what else those fingers are capable of and he thinks that he really wants to find out very soon.

Ed is full on grinning now, his hands finally letting go of Roy's much abused coat collar to smooth down the expanse of Roy's chest. "Fuck it. Sure. Why the fuck not?"

The gleam in Roy's eyes is nothing short of pure joy and Ed thinks that maybe he wants to see that again.


End file.
